


Supernatural Reader Insert

by Etay10



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Hunters & Hunting, Love, Prophetic Dreams, Prophets, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27624374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etay10/pseuds/Etay10
Summary: [Name] has moved unofficially to Canada, fleeing the grief of her father's passing and looking for her place in the world.  She finds herself stuck with an under-the-table waitressing job and a dingy little apartment on the bad side of town.  Fate comes to her in the form of two brothers from one of her favorite TV shows and she is thrown into a world full of monsters, hunting, and classic rock.  Will she survive, or will the adventure overtake her?Love interests include: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Gabriel
Relationships: Castiel/You, Dean Winchester/You, Gabriel/You, Sam Winchester/You
Comments: 14
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

Of course it was raining on your walk home from work. You had forgotten your umbrella and now it was raining. It fit the theme of the day, really. You pushed your chin down closer to your chest and slumped your shoulders even further. Your eventful shift had been as messy as the bits of garbage collecting on the grates at the side of the road. Two full plates of fresh, hot food had been knocked from your hands and into the unsuspecting laps of the customers that had ordered them. After that you had been flustered enough to spill two people's drinks and mess up someone's side of French fries. You were still unsure how that had happened. _How does someone mess up French fries!?_ Needless to say, you were aggravated with yourself and tired.

You had escaped to Canada to figure out your life. The only thing you had figured out, however, was that you were a terrible waitress. Sure, you were generally okay with the fundamentals, but some of the servers you worked with could brighten anyone's day. You sometimes found it hard to brighten your own day. Now, this wasn't your dream job, but you had been living in Canada without any proper identification for the past couple of months and your boss didn't care that he had to pay you under the table. You had only planned on being in Canada long enough to clear your mind so that you could move forward. You thought of it as a forced fresh start to kick start the real thing. _I have a major in archeology with minors in linguistics and history. I don't want to wait tables forever._

You let out a hefty sigh. Days like this you always doubted your plan to leave home.

"Okay, okay, okay!" you heard a panicked man's voice coming from ahead. "Easy!" he whimpered.

You stopped your movement forward and listened carefully. You hadn't seen any kind of street violence since you began your stay in Canada. Your apartment was considered to be on the bad side of town according to your coworker, but you hadn't encountered any trouble until now.

You heard another man talking while the first continued to whimper. This second voice was deeper than the first, and you weren't sure exactly what it was saying, but it sounded similar enough to a villain monologue to you. You pinpointed its location as the alley ahead of you.

Your thoughts were mostly curses directed at yourself. _Why did I have to go into Canada as an incognito American? If I had done things the right way I wouldn't have needed to stay in that rundown apartment building._ The old man owning it didn't care who you were as long as you paid him and didn't burn anything down. _I could be living somewhere with a friendly landlord that had AC and heating systems that didn't constantly make odd clunking noises._

Instead, here you were, about to go figure out what was going on in that dark alley. Your feet moved slowly toward the space between the brick buildings until you could lean out and peek around the corner.

"There's no magic in the universe." You could make out the deeper voice's words now.

When you looked into the alley you saw a businessman, all in black with dark hair and probably on the taller side, holding another man pinned against the far brick wall. The pinned man was pleading, trying to pull the other man's hands away where they had gathered his bright blue cardigan in order to restrain him. He was shorter than his attacker, with dark hair that was a wet mess and his face-

"I'm sorry!" he cried, "Please!"

Your eyes shot open wide as you recognized his face. That was Cas! ...from your favorite TV show, _Supernatural_. Misha Collins was standing in front of you, pinned to the wall by an attacker that was now wielding a knife.

"You should thank me for what I'm about to do," the man in black told him.

"Why?" you were sure Misha was crying now. "What are you about to do?"

_What should I do!?_ Your body stood frozen to your peeking spot. Your hand reached for the phone in your pocket. _Who should I call? What is the emergency number in Canada? Oh, hell, I should know this! Should I just try dialing 911? I should have thrown my gun in my purse this morning!_

"I need to make an important call," the man in black replied. "I pray to God that it even goes through."

_Maybe that will give me enough time to-_

Suddenly the man lifted his hand, knife glinting, and aimed it at Misha's throat.

"No!" you shouted and jumped out from behind the wall.

The knife hit its target before the man in black glanced at you, looking even more annoyed with the world. Misha was choking on his own blood now, the sounds making you want to sob or scream or vomit. The attacker turned back to his kill and cupped a hand below the dying man's throat.

You were frozen again. This time it was because of your shock and horror rather than your indecision. You could only watch as the man took the blood that he had collected in his hands and started to speak to it. Misha's body slid down the bricks behind it to fall into a heap on the wet ground.

"Raphael," the man said to the blood, "I have the key but I am stranded here. They have no magic in this world. Please, hear me..."

_Run, [Name]. Get away while he's distracted. NOW._

Your feet would not obey your thoughts. Your limbs shook as you looked down at Misha's dead body. You stared at it until the dark red pouring out of his throat had mixed with the small stream flowing to the gutter. Then you heard another man's voice, even more stern than the man it was replying to.

"Virgil, I hear you. You are to return tomorrow to where you crossed through, at the time you crossed over. From there I will reach through the window and pull the key and you back through."

"Understood," the man in black, Virgil, replied. After that you felt a small static pop, and whatever had been replying- "Raphael"- was gone.

Virgil's stony face then quickly turned to you. "You mud-monkeys are everywhere," he strode toward you, "regardless of the universe! You cause your turmoil and are worth nothing more." His blade was back in his hand as he approached you.

You found your feet now moving slowly backward. "No, please!" It was your turn to beg now, the words quietly leaving your frightened lips. Then you remembered that some loud noises might at least draw attention and hopefully an emergency phone call, so you took a different approach. "Don't hurt me!" you shouted and glanced around you for open windows or signs of other people. "STAY AWAY FROM ME!"

This only angered Virgil, who let out a deep growl and moved toward you more quickly.

"HELP!" you cried out.

In one more step he had your shoulder in his bloody left hand with a grip like a vice. A shout of fear escaped you as he lifted the blade in his other hand. You jerked away enough to avoid being stabbed directly in your middle, but you screeched as the knife caught the outside of your upper right arm. You didn't have time to think about the severity of that injury because Virgil was now radiating fury. He already had the knife prepared for another blow. You cried out again and twisted away from his grasp fully, the blood and rain between his hand and your jacket making it easier. You spun to run away, continuing to call for help. You heard Virgil growl again in frustration and his footsteps pounded in the puddles behind you as he took chase. Before you could reach the end of the alley and run out into the open road you heard sirens. You shouted as loud as your terrified lungs would allow. You heard your attacker shout out in frustration. He shoved you down when he caught up to you before taking off around the corner and out of sight.

You had attempted to catch yourself with both hands, but you felt a flash of pain in your right arm that had you almost falling on your face. You glanced down at the bloody hole in your jacket and let out a rattling sob. Now that you saw the opening through your jacket and into your arm, along with the blood pouring from it, you realized you were not in good shape.

_People always put pressure on bleeding wounds. That's what they do in all the shows..._ Your shaky left hand reached up and gripped around the wound. The pain it brought you had you almost falling over from your seated position with another cry.

Two cop cars and an ambulance pulled up then and surrounded the entrance to the alley. You watched dark figures, only silhouettes because of the bright flashing lights behind them, rush out of the vehicles. A policeman's face appeared directly in front of you.

"Ma'am, are you-"

"That way!" you interrupted him and nodded in the direction Virgil had run off to. "He went that way!"

The cop stood and pointed in the direction you had suggested while shouting something to the other officers. One of the cars took off down the street.

"Okay," he told you, trying to smile reassuringly, "that was very helpful, ma'am. Now, how about we take a look at you, eh?"

If you hadn't been seriously injured and losing blood you would have found his very strong Canadian accent funny. Instead, you let him gently lift your hand off of the cut on your arm and take a look.

"Medic!" he called back toward the ambulance. When he turned back to you he asked softly, "Can you stand?"

You nodded slowly. He took your left arm and wrapped it around his shoulders to help you toward the ambulance. You hadn't thought you would really need his help, but your knees were unsteady as you walked, so you were thankful. A nurse met the two of you halfway and you were transferred over to her shoulders.

"Alright-y." She set you down on the bumper of the ambulance. "Let's get you fixed up, shall we?"

She helped you get your jacket and shirt off. You gritted your teeth in pain as the fabric that had become stuck to your wound was peeled away, but couldn't stop a quiet hiss from escaping. You were glad you had put a cami on underneath your oversized work polo. You had put on a cute bra that day, but that didn't mean you wanted the world to see it. The pony-tailed nurse quickly grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around your body, leaving out your bleeding arm. Now she inspected the cut.

She hummed in thought as she lightly pressed around the wound with gauze in an attempt to soak up some of the blood. You watched with pursed lips, waiting quietly for her to stop nudging it painfully. "Nothing major, it seems. I think all I need to do is clean it and sew you up. After that we'll just get you to the hospital for some well-deserved rest!"

"The hospital?" you asked worriedly. _I can't stay in the hospital! I don't even have a valid ID!_

"It'll be okay," she glanced up at you with a very white smile. You supposed it was meant to be reassuring. "You seem like a tough girl. They'll most likely only keep you for a night, to check you out for trauma."

You struggled to think of a good enough excuse to avoid the hospital as the peppy nurse cleaned your wound. The stinging and smell of the antiseptic only clouded your mind further, and the sewing that followed wasn't any better. When she was done she moved to put away her supplies and you wrapped the warm blanket all the way around you with your uninjured arm. Your left hand wiped at your eyes. The rain had slowed to a sprinkle but your face was still dripping.

A policeman walked up to the open end of the ambulance now and you recognized him as the one who had helped you over here.

"Hi," he greeted you before looking up expectantly at the nurse in the ambulance.

She huffed at him, "Oh, fine," then looked back at you, "If you need anything you just call for Sharon," she told you before leaving around the side of the vehicle.

The officer now had a pad of paper and a pen in his hands. "I'm Officer Wilson," he introduced himself, the O's in his title dragging a little with his accent. You saw now that he had determined green eyes and a friendly smile. His build was what you imagined the average cop to be: slightly taller with a good amount of muscle on his frame.

"Taylor Momsen." You gave him a fake name, not wanting him to look up yours and see anything wrong in your file.

"Okay, Taylor," he replied gently, "Could you tell me what happened here?"

You let out a sigh and decided to ask your own question before answering his. "Has he been caught?"

"No, not yet."

You nodded with a frown and looked down the alley toward Misha's dead body. It had been pulled away from the wall and was covered with a white sheet. You went through the entire story with him, pushing through Misha's death quickly and rambling as you tried to explain the whole talking-to-blood part. "...and then he heard sirens and pushed me down before running off."

The officer had occasionally glanced up from his notepad at you curiously, but now he silently finished writing before thanking you and telling you that he might contact you again. He walked away and you heard him speak into his radio, "We have a name... Virgil."

You looked down to pull the blanket tighter around you. When you looked up you saw two more familiar faces approaching. The one to your left wasn't short, but he was almost a head shorter than the man to the right. The shorter one had a gray jacket on with breast pockets and their buttons glinted from the lights on the vehicles around you. His stride was somewhat bowlegged and his hair was cut shorter than the man next to him, whose locks fell around his neck. This taller guy had a tan jacket on, opened to reveal a plaid button up. The two shared a look, but you didn't see what you were expecting in it. The two didn't seem as upset as you thought they should be. _What are they doing here?_

Normally you would be extremely nervous to be greeted by a couple of your favorite actors, but you felt like your nerves were too tired to be bothered. "...I'm sorry for your loss," you told them slowly as they stepped up to you.

"Uh, yeah," Jensen Ackles cleared his throat nervously, "We are, too."

"What... happened?" Jared Padalecki asked you.

Your eyebrows furrowed at their strange behavior, but you remembered being told countless times that everyone handled grief differently, so you let it go. _I mean, I handled it by running away_. You began to retell your story, leaving out a lot of the more gruesome parts about the attack on Misha. When you got to the rambling part about the guy speaking into blood and hearing voices they stopped you.

"What did the voice- Raphael- say?" Jared asked.

"Well, it didn't really make any sense. It almost sounded like he had blue-skidoo-ed out of your show and couldn't get back."

Jensen shared a knowing glance with Jared before saying, "Try us."

You shook your head. "It was something about being stuck. Virgil couldn't leave so he made this 'call'," you attempted to air-quote with both hands but your right arm lifting pulled at its stitches and you winced. "Uh, like Meg does in season one when she cuts that truck driver's throat?" At Meg's name the two kind of winced. You cleared your throat before continuing, "Anyway, Raphael comes through from somewhere and tells him to be in the same place at the same time he crossed over. That Raphael will reach through the window and bring him home with the key. After that he came at me..." you trail off as you slide the blanket down your arm to check your wound. That air-quoting had hurt but you weren't bleeding through the gauze or anything.

"Uh, okay, thank you," Jensen nods and smiles politely while Jared glances around before responding similarly. The two step back and Sharon pops up from around the side of the vehicle.

"How are you doing?" she asks as she checks the dressing on your wound.

"Alright," you reply unenthusiastically, "considering."

"Dean," you hear Jared clear his throat and address Jensen. _Why did he call him Dean?_ You looked over at them. "If Virgil gets back with that key, Cas is dead and our world is _toast_."

Jensen looked up at Jared, "Well, then we stop him. I mean, how bad can an angel with no wings be?"

"...honey," you catch the end of Sharon's sentence.

"Wh-what?" you ask her.

"I said, 'It's getting pretty late. Let's get you ready to move to the hospital, honey.'"

"Oh, no, I _hate_ hospitals," you tell her as you stand and start stepping away. "I'll just see my regular doctor tomorrow if that's alright?"

Sharon frowned, "They need to check you for trauma..."

"I'm good," you muster up a smile. "See? All good! I'll check in tomorrow, I promise."

You turn to walk toward Jared and Jensen just as they are walking away. You hear Sharon call after you, but ignore her. _No way I'm getting stuck in some hospital before being put into jail or thrown back into the states by force._ Nerves shot, but energy now returning, you decide to act on what you just heard and that feeling you had when talking to the actors before.

"Hey! Uh, Mr. Padalecki? Mr. Ackles?" You received no response as the men kept walking away. With furrowed brows you jogged to catch up. "Mr. Padalecki!"

The two turned to see who was shouting and a spark of recognition crossed Jared's face before he replied, "Yes, uh, that's me."

"Right..." you narrowed your eyes at his response before continuing. "So I heard you guys talking just now." When the two exchanged a look you told them, "If you don't want people to hear maybe you should get out of earshot. Are you two okay? I mean, with uh..." you looked over at the body under the sheet that was now bloodstained and you roughly swallowed before turning back to the men in front of you. "You two just sounded a lot like Virgil back there- like you blue-skidoo-ed out of your own show."

Jensen cleared his throat and frowned down at his feet, "I think it's all still a shock right now." Jared nodded his agreement and looked off to the side with a frown of his own.

Your eyebrows rose skeptically, "Okay, what is going on here? First I hear you two talk to each other like you're Sam and Dean- which, okay, maybe you guys are just _really_ into your roles and that's why you guys are such great actors- but, what is that!?" _That was some terrible acting!_ "Misha is..." you trailed off to avoid saying what you were trying to say. "...and you guys don't even seem to care!" You sighed and shook your head at your feet.

Jared and Jensen exchanged long glances, having a silent conversation with their eyes, until Jared suddenly said, "Don't!"

Jensen seemed to ignore his plea and turned to you. "Look. That part you said about- How did you say it? Skidoo-ing out of our show? That's true."

Your eyes widened but you were interrupted as you tried to reply.

"Taylor!" Sharon was coming after you again. Apparently she had realized that you hadn't actually left.

"Dammit," you cursed with a frown and glanced back at the peppy woman approaching you. She came up to your side and took hold of your uninjured arm.

"Wait!" you told her. "I REALLY HATE the hospital!" You were positive that the men in front of you were contemplating leaving you to your fate now.

"Well," she huffed, clearly agitated, then looked up at your company. "Oh!" she shouted and the three of you jumped in surprise. "Oh! You two are- are those actors!"

Jensen- or maybe it really was Dean?- shot her an award-winning smile and stuck out his hand. "Yeah, Jensen... Ackles and Jared... Padwicky--"

"Padalecki!" Jared quickly interrupted Jensen with a smile and shook her hand when she was done shaking Jensen's.

She introduced herself and then stared awkwardly at the two with a smile for a moment, obviously star-struck, before abruptly clearing her throat and forcing a frown, "I'm sorry for your loss."

The men both nodded with frowns and looked down at their feet.

The nurse turned to you again and returned her grip to your arm, "You need to be taken to the hospital."

"No, no," you responded quickly with an attempt to gesture her away with your arms. That only resulted in you wincing from the pain of your injury being bothered. "I _can't_ go to the hospital," you told her after wincing. _I'm sure I am just_ so _convincing._

"Why?" she narrowed her eyes and rested a hand on her hip. Her peppiness had disappeared again. She was tired of your crap.

"Because..." you started, then tried again. "Because... reasons." You cursed at yourself in your thoughts. You glanced at the guys in front of you that you were sure would have left already.

They must have seen the fear in your eyes because Jensen rested his arm over your shoulders in a half-embrace and told the nurse, "Sharon, my sister here has a phobia of hospitals." He leaned closer and asked quietly enough that only you could hear, "You got a car?" You nodded.

"Sister?" Sharon's eyebrows rose with her voice. "But you said your name was Taylor Momsen ..."

"Yeah," you laughed a little nervously, trying to come up with an answer for her. "I try not to draw attention to myself."

"Oh, I see," she said with a little bit of her pep returning. She was buying it.

"Right, so now that I'm here, we're just gonna head back home. She needs some rest," Jensen told the nurse.

The nurse chewed lightly on her bottom lip for a moment, and then replied, "I'm really not supposed to let her out of my sight until she gets to a hospital."

"She's fine!" Jared assured her, finally giving in and going along with Jensen.

You smiled and nodded when the nurse's eyes looked to you. "I _will_ go for a checkup tomorrow!"

Sharon huffed and then smiled, "Oh, alright. Keep an eye on her."

"Thanks," Jensen responded, "We will."

Sharon gave an excited goodbye and turned to walk back to the ambulance.

"Where are we going?" Jared asked Jensen, who then turned to you.

"My truck is in my apartment parking lot a couple of blocks that way," you pointed down the road in the direction you had been headed before all of this had started. "Are you going to explain what's going on?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jensen- _Dean_?- replied, "But right now we need to beat Virgil back to that set. I'll explain on the way."

"This is crazy," you mumbled as you moved down the street with the two men close behind you.

* * *

"Dean," Sam- you were pretty sure it must be Sam now- hissed at his brother while you unlocked your old truck. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Dean walked over to him and leaned closer. "What?"

"I don't think [Name] needs to be involved. We're messing with a whole different world here," he whispered. "As soon as we get her involved we're meddling."

Dean huffed, "We aren't a group of kids and a dog solving mysteries, Sam. If we don't get back to that set before Virgil gets pulled back Cas and our world are _over_. [Name] here is willing to give us a ride."

"She's not supposed to know who we are. She's not supposed to know why we're here. The butterfly effect, Dean."

"Don't give me that Kutcher crap," Dean frowned. "She's just giving us a ride. How else do you suggest we get there?"

A taxi, maybe?" Sam asked with a frustrated chuckle.

"Do you have any money?" Dean asked with eyebrows raised.

Sam reached to his pocket for his actor-double's limitless credit card, but found it empty. He frowned, remembering rushing out of the mansion. He must have left it.

"That's what I thought," Dean said smugly.

"Alright," Sam huffed. "Fine, but she doesn't need to know everything."

Dean looked over at Sam's stoic expression and realized that his little brother wasn't going to budge on this. The older brother nodded with an, "Okay, Sammy."

"Okay," you said from the driver seat of your running vehicle while the brothers finally got in. Your arm hurt, but you could handle driving with just one. Dean took the passenger seat and Sam slid into the back. "How do I get to the set?"

"...I'll look it up," Sam said from the back seat while Dean looked around like he had no idea where in the world he was or how to get anywhere.

"You can start explaining now," you told him.

He cleared his throat. "Right." You watched his hazel eyes look toward the back seat before turning back to you. "Long story short, there's big trouble back home, we got sent here in an attempt by a certain angel to find a key and if we don't get back with it and ditch Virgil our world is screwed." There was a sigh from Sam, and Dean responded with, "What!? That was vague!"

Your lips pursed and you stared at Dean for a moment. _They are either really, really crazy... or in some serious trouble. Either way, might be best to get them back to that set._ You put the truck into reverse and backed out of your parking spot. "Okay, let's go."

You felt Sam release some tension, but you weren't sure if it was because you had agreed to help them or because you hadn't asked any more questions. Either way, he looked down at his cell phone and relayed the path Google told him to take.

Once on the road Dean turned to you. "So what's with you and hospitals?"

"Well, it's not really about the hospital," you told him slowly. "It's more like... I don't want the authorities to figure out I'm living here illegally." You cringed a little, it felt strange to talk about it so openly.

Dean snorted. "And you picked Canada?"

"Yeah," you told him. "Wasn't really feeling Mexico. Thought maybe they'd build a bigger wall as soon as I got there and I wouldn't be able to make it back."

You glanced over to see Dean mulling it over in his mind before shrugging. "Could happen."

The rest of the ride was spent with you listening to Sam's instructions and then gawking at the outdoor sets when you got to the right address. After dropping the brothers off you turned your truck around, but had no idea where you were going. You knew you needed some sleep and your bed was ultimately the destination. Getting out of this maze of sets was going to be difficult, however, because you had been paying almost no attention to the route you had taken through them on the way in. You found yourself driving through more outdoor sets that you didn't recognize and trying not to geek out at the ones you did recognize or the countless Impalas. Not long after that you were driving past actors' trailers. There was a big, black Hummer blocking the way, though. It sat in the middle of the road facing away from your truck, not enough room on either side for you to try to squeeze past. There were a few guys in front of it, chatting, who didn't seem to be in any hurry. You put your truck into reverse so that you could try backtracking again. Before your foot was back on the gas a shot rang through the air. You had jumped and started searching for the source when another rang out. You watched Virgil take a third shot with a big 12 gauge, and one of the men you had seen hanging out in front of the Hummer fell to the wet pavement. Blood poured out of his body from the bullet wounds.

_Virgil!_

"Oh no..." you mumbled as you swung the truck around. Another shot rang out. Reaching under your seat you grabbed the Ruger SR9c you had concealed down there. You glanced into the rearview mirror to see the man in black had pulled a handgun out of his waist, too. _Sam and Dean can't be ready for this!_ Your truck took off the way you had come as you hoped to beat Virgil to the set.

This time you were less distracted and managed to find your way back. The adrenaline rush had increased your focus enough that you weren't even questioning what turns you needed to take. You parked your truck haphazardly in front of the doors and turned the engine off out of habit. You left the door swinging as you abandoned your vehicle, gun in hand. Your feet sprinted into the sets with no idea where you were going.

"You need to get out of here!" you shouted at a group of people as you ran past, "There's a man with guns! You all need to leave!"

You weren't sure if they had listened, but you kept moving. A spark of relief hit you as you recognized the brothers inside one of the sets.

"He's coming!" You shouted before finding your way into the fake house. When you entered the room both brothers were staring at you with wide eyes.

"What are you still doing here!?" Sam questioned you, as Dean glanced at the gun in your hand before giving you a stern look.

"I had to warn you!" you told them, having trouble finding the breath to form your words. "He's coming with a twelve gauge and a huge handgun. He's already killed maybe three people."

Both brothers shared a look before bursting into action. Sam ran out of the set and Dean crossed the room to you in a few quick strides.

"You need to get out of here. _Now_." He started pushing you toward the exit. More gunshots rang through the sets. "Shit!" Dean looked around for a moment before pulling you into a fake closet and shutting the door. He told you to stay as low and small as possible. You heard him sprint away, followed by a huge, "Hey!" from his brother.

You ducked and let the cartridge out of your gun, double checking that it was loaded. There was another gunshot accompanied by the sound of breaking glass, some grunts, and something wooden falling before breaking apart. More grunts followed, and then a moment of silence. You cracked the door to your hiding spot open. You were relieved to find that the door moved inaudibly but the feeling only lasted until you saw that Virgil was holding the brothers at gunpoint, the handgun and twelve gauge pointed at the Winchesters. You also noticed that the angel was facing away from you.

You swung the door open and stood quietly. Dean's eyes were trained on the gun and Virgil, but Sam's gaze met yours for a split second. He began to shake his head at Virgil's gun, but you guessed it was meant for you and what you were about to do. Virgil snickered as he lined up his shot. You raised your gun and pointed it at the center of the gunman's back. He turned at the sound of your feet, but the bullet hit him square in the chest. He fell, releasing the guns, and didn't get back up.

Sam glanced at you before rushing over to search the unconscious man's pockets.

"Dean, got it!" Sam announced just as you were pointing at the glowing symbol forming on the window and shouting in disbelief, "Look!"

The brothers looked back and Sam, looking afraid, shouted, "Raphael. Run!"

You didn't even have time to turn before you were pulled toward the window by an unseen force so strong the glass shattered on impact. A yelp of fright escaped you as you landed on a mix of elbows, knees, and glass. The men underneath you struggled to stand, forcing you into a sitting position. You saw the wet pavement of a dark parking lot below you and a cheap motel with a broken window behind you. The stars spun above you when you looked up, dizzy from whatever portal you had been pulled through. You crawled over and grabbed your gun from where it had landed a couple of feet to the left. Your arm was throbbing again.

"You two..." You turned back around at the sound of a woman's voice. A dark-skinned, black-power-suit-wearing woman approached from the other end of the parking lot and was quickly standing before you. "...have the strangest luck. And look!" she smirked down at you, "A stowaway." The business attire she had on only made the creeped-out feeling in your gut grow. There was no way she was normal.

"Raphael?" Dean questioned her and her calm but unsettling gaze turned up to him. If you were where you thought you were, and she was Raphael, you were sure you were about to get blasted into oblivion. "Nice meat suit," Dean continued, confirming your suspicion. "Dude looks like a lady," he mumbled to Sam.

Raphael raised and then clenched her fist and you felt the power of her energy in the air. Sam and Dean fell to their knees around you. You could only imagine their pain as you watched with wide eyes while they grabbed at their guts and grunted.

"The key," Raphael demanded. She picked up the little orange key that Sam had let drop in his fit of pain.

"And that will open you a locker at the Albany bus station." You looked up at the British voice and found a man in black pants with a black sports coat, a grey deep V-neck T-shirt under that. He had dirty blond hair and stubble trimmed neatly. It was the angel Balthazar and he was walking over.

"Really?" Raphael asked skeptically.

"I needed a modest decoy to make it more convincing," he told her.

"Give me the weapons," she ordered him.

"Sorry, darling. They're gone," he told her simply.

"What!?" Her tone rose.

Balthazar then took the time to pronounce each word very clearly and with force, "I said, too- bloody- late. You see, they were so well hidden that I needed _time_ to find them. So I volunteered these two marmosets," he gestured to Sam and Dean, "for a game of fetch with Virgil. You two were _such_ an adequate shtick. Thank you. Thank you, boys." During his thanks he looked to the Winchester brothers.

"You've made your last mistake," Raphael almost cut him off.

"I've got a few more up my sleeve, _Honey_."

Raphael stepped toward the angel and began to raise her hand when you heard Castiel's voice.

"Step away from him, Raphael." Castiel had appeared just beyond the other two angels and everyone turned their gazes on him. "I have the weapons now. Their power is with me."

It was strange seeing someone stand in front of you that you had seen die hours before. Your mind was having trouble accepting everything else, let alone seeing a dead man's face talking. Lightning flashed and shadows in the form of wings outlined Cas's own dark silhouette.

"Castiel," Raphael greeted him with a tiny amount of desperation in her voice.

"If you don't want to die tonight..." Castiel threatened as he approached her, " _back_ _off_."

Balthazar smirked at Raphael in victory. Suddenly she was gone and he stepped over to his fellow angel. "Well, Cas, now that you have your own sword try not to die by it." Then he, too, disappeared.

Cas approached the three of you and you took that moment to stand off the wet, cold ground.

"Cas, what the hell?" Sam asked him. The angel said nothing as he reached out and took your hand. He lifted it onto Sam's shoulder. Cas placed both his hands on each brother's closest shoulder. As thunder crashed around you, your surroundings changed in a flash. This time you recognized Bobby's living room/study. A blast of nausea hit you and you felt the blood leave your face. Your legs lost their strength and you fell back onto the couch behind you.

Dean turned to you with a, "Son of a bitch!" and hovered over you for a moment. You were too focused on not fainting and puking simultaneously, so you couldn't help him understand how he could help you.

"Wait. Wait, you were in on this!?" Sam's accusing voice was much too loud to you and seemed to echo inside your head. It bounced around your skull painfully. "Using us as a diversion?"

"It was Balthazar's plan," Cas told him, the stoic angel's voice also too loud for you. "I would have done the same thing."

Thunder and lightning crashed through the shattered window behind you. You had pulled yourself into a fetal position on the couch, the cut on your arm throbbing as you tried to cover your ears and eyes, the threat of puking or passing out still not gone.

"Just hold on!" Dean shouted in frustration at his brother and the angel standing in front of him. He hurriedly wedged an arm under your knees and wrapped the other around your shoulders. He picked you up and took you quickly into a spare bedroom. After laying you on the bed he quietly left, shutting the door behind him softly.

* * *

Dean strode back into the living room with quick but heavy footsteps. "That's not comforting, Cas!"

"When will I be able to make you understand?" Cas asked the brothers exasperatedly. "If I lose against Raphael, we all lose... _everything_."

"Yeah, Cas, we know the stakes," Dean told his thick-skulled angel friend. "That's about all you've told us!"

The two stared at each other for a moment. Cas was solemn and Dean shook with anger.

"I'm sorry about all this. I'll explain when I can." Then he was gone.

"Friggin' angels," Dean shook his head as Sam let out a frustrated sigh.


	2. Pancakes and Bacon

You woke up the next day to sunlight streaming in through a small window and a dense comforter wrapped around you. There was a moment of panic when you had no idea where you were, followed by the strange feeling of being lost when you remembered the events of the day before.

"Oh, Toto. We're a helluva long ways from Kansas," you found yourself mumbling in an attempt to feel a little better _. On second thought, we're just in a_ different _Kansas_ , you amended the statement in your head. 

When you pushed the blanket off, you discovered that your shoes had been removed. They were the only things that you didn't have now but had entered this world with, besides your gun. That had been forgotten when you were trying not to pass out. So, contrary to popular fanfiction themes, the Winchesters had not undressed you. The fangirls would still be jealous, of course. That thought put a small grin on your face. You made to sit up while leaning on your right arm, but the small shot of pain you received reminded you of the cut there. Your bandaging was hanging off your arm by the medical tape used to adhere it to you, and you were surprised when your eyes met what the bandage was supposed to be covering. It felt and looked dramatically better than it had before. Your left hand reached up and tugged the bandage off. You sat on the edge of the bed for a moment and stared at where the bleeding hole used to be- where there was now a closed slit surrounded by stitching and bruising- then turned quickly to inspect the comforter for your blood. When you didn't find any stains you assumed the bandage must have clung to your arm long enough for it to stop bleeding. You had thought it would take much longer than this for the wound to heal, but apparently it hadn't been as bad as you had thought. You were sure you had reopened it when you had fired at Virgil, though.

You looked down at your brightly striped socks, unsure what to think about your situation. _Maybe my mind would be clearer if I cleaned up a little._

For another short moment you sat quietly on the bed. You could hear the Winchesters in the other room through the thin walls, but not loud enough to make out what they were discussing. You stood with a deep breath, then let it out with a sigh as you made your way to the bedroom door. You opened it slowly and saw that the only other doorway in the short hallway led into a bathroom. Upon entering you found only enough room for you to stand in front of the small vanity, big enough to house the sink and a cabinet below. Behind you was the toilet and next to you was a shower and tub combo. You tried to freshen up as much as you could. You made sure to rinse off the crusty blood that had started to flake off around your wound, and then gently wash the area. You found an antiseptic in the cabinet behind the mirror and dabbed some of it around the stitches. Halfway through you had opted to put your untidy hair up into a messy bun so that it was out of the way, remembering to go easy with your right arm as you lifted it to gather your hair. After your arm had been dealt with you poked around in the medicine cabinet again and found some toothpaste and an unopened toothbrush. You brushed your teeth , rinsed your face, and then straightened out your shirt.

You walked out into the hallway and heard a refrigerator door close.

"Man, it's good to be back," you heard Dean say. You walked into the living room as he handed Sam a beer. Sam sat on the couch and you noticed that the window behind him had been fixed.

Sam noticed you first and greeted you with a, "Hey, how are you feeling?"

"Uh," you glanced at your arm again, "good. Better than yesterday."

"Wow," Dean took a step closer and inspected the wound, "I'd say."

"Good," Sam nodded with a grin, "And that whole thing with Cas teleporting and then feeling sick is totally normal. The first time it happened to us we were—"

"Okay, alright," Dean stepped back to put a hand out to his brother, cutting him off. You guessed Dean wanted to stop the embarrassing story about their first time teleporting before it could start. "Are you hungry?" he asked you.

You were suddenly aware of just how hungry you were. "Yeah."

"Do you like pancakes?" Dean asked as he turned to walk into the kitchen.

"Wait," Sam snickered, "You're making breakfast?"

Dean glanced back at his brother with a frown and a gruff, "Yes, Sammy. And if you want some you'll do the dishes."

Sam chuckled and told Dean, "Technically this is just breakfast for lunch."

Dean went to work in the kitchen and you turned back to Sam. "What time is it?"

Sam looked up to the clock in the kitchen and you read around 12:13 as he announced, "A little after noon." He stood and joined his brother in the kitchen. You watched as Sam grabbed a container of blueberries from the fridge and set them on the counter by Dean as his brother stirred some pancake mix.

Dean glanced over and said, "No way. M&M's."

"What? Come on," you heard Sam argue as you walked over to the couch and looked down at the book he had set down. Sam had been studying it before he got up. It was old, and Native American. You guessed Algonquin, and when you opened it that guess was confirmed as you slowly read about Wendigoes in their old language. You had maybe gotten through a paragraph as the brothers disputed in the kitchen. After you decided it was going to take them a while to figure it out you looked up from the book to them and said, "We could do both. Or some with blueberries and some with M&Ms."

The brothers glanced at you and after a moment of contemplation Dean said, "Okay, but the M&M pancakes are first, so they don't get... contaminated." He made a disgusted face before turning back to the pancake mix.

Sam smirked and shook his head at his brother, then took another drink from his beer.

"Do you need help with anything?" you asked.

"Nope, you're good," Dean replied quickly.

Sam took that as a hint he didn't need to help either and returned to the couch. "Are you... reading that?" he asked skeptically.

"Very slowly, but yes," you told him. "I know a little bit of the Native American languages."

Sam looked surprised. "Really?"

You hummed an affirmative with a nod. "I'm highly educated for a waitress."

"I almost got through law school," he told you with a small smile, happy to relate. "So what did you go to school for that involves old Native American languages?"

"I majored in archeology with intensive minors in linguistics and history. I was never really sure what I wanted to do with my life, but all of _this_ ," you lifted the book in your hands, "really interested me. So I figured I'd try to be an archeologist. I graduated with honors, but- I don't know. " You almost told him about your father not appreciating it, even disliking your interest in it, but you stopped yourself. Your father may have been stubborn, but he loved you.

Sam must have caught your pause because he changed the subject. "Bobby just got his hands on that book. I was going through it for anything we could use."

"Oh, have you found anything new?" you asked curiously.

"Not yet," he said. "But it's taking me a while to translate it."

"Well, this is a pretty deep Ojibwa dialect. I can understand why."

Sam smiled and shook his head, still surprised that you could decipher anything from it. "Maybe you should be reading through it instead of me. You might be better at it."

You shrugged and handed him the book back, "I wouldn't know what you need to learn from it."

"True," Sam sighed and took it back from you.

At this point Dean must have turned on a radio in the kitchen because you could hear classic rock drifting from the other room, Zeppelin to be specific. Sam returned to studying the book you handed back to him and Bobby's desk caught your eye. Your curiosity got the better of you, forcing you to walk over and scan his desk. It was as messy and yet as neat as you had expected. There were groups of messes around the tabletop, organized by topic. In one corner was a book and some notes about a vampire nest in the Northwest, next to that was a grouping of papers on a group of different monsters in the Midwest, and in another corner was some information about dragons. You recalled one of the last episodes you had seen of the show, when the case they were covering involved dragons, and at the end you got to see the 'Mother of All'. Maybe you could help them before you were sent back. You could at least describe what she looks like, right? _Although, if she is the 'Mother' of monsters, she can probably shapeshift..._

The bookshelf behind the desk caught your eye now, and those thoughts were put to the side. You rounded the desk and glanced through the titles on the shelves. As you browsed the collection of knowledge you noticed two things. One, that the tomes were ordered very neatly- first by monster/topic and then alphabetically- and two, there was a very old looking book towards the bottom in the prophetic section that you felt more and more you needed to hold. You bent down to pick it up and it slid out easily. Some of the works that were next to it leaned over and filled in the spot. As you stood you studied the cover. It was exquisitely handmade and you recognized some of the iconic pictorials decorating it as something a Christian monk might have used in an attempt to convey what his book holds within. There was a figure towards the bottom, and a light connecting that figure's head to the sky. There were dark figures in the shadows around the edges, but the light held them away. You marveled at the detail in the painting. How Bobby had gotten his hands on something so special you had no idea, but you were sure he had his ways.

You imagined a small stone structure surrounded by gardens. The produce went to feed the homeless and needy, as well as the monk that tended to them. In your head he was sitting in his home, quietly leaning over this book as he made it. His desk and chair were simple, like the bed behind him and the robe he wore. He was content and thinking about him made you feel the same. For a moment you forgot about the mess you were in.

You opened the cover carefully. If it had been in a worse condition you never would have even thought about opening it, but the binding and the whole of the book were in such good shape you were sure it wouldn't harm anything. You found beautifully neat handwriting inside and your intrigued eyes scanned the first paragraph. The monk wrote about people being God's tools, as well as His handiwork. You had only enough time to go over it briefly before you heard the door open.

You looked behind you and you were startled to see Bobby Singer walk into the room and close the door behind him.

"You two start using my stove to make lunch and neither think the owner should know?" his grumpy statement was more like a question by his tone as he looked into the kitchen. "Or did you not want to make me any?"

"I was about to send Sam," Dean answered with his back still turned. "It's almost done."

"Sure you were," Bobby grumbled.

"It's not really lunch, Bobby," Sam added, "It's pancakes and bacon."

"Breakfast?" he turned to Sam.

"[Name] woke up not too long ago," the younger Winchester said as he gestured to you.

Bobby looked up and met your gaze for the first time, finally realizing you were in the room. Your immediate reaction was to blush. Bobby was one of your favorite characters on the show. It was like meeting a celebrity that you've followed for so long. You may have been in too tired and strange a mood to react this way with Sam and Dean, but you were feeling more like yourself now, and that meant you greeted him with a shy, "Hello," followed by an awkward, " I- uh- I'm sorry I passed out last night before getting a chance to meet you." It seemed like Bobby didn't know what to say to your strange apology so you attempted to reconcile your greeting by shutting the book gently and stepping forward to extend your hand and say, "[Name L.Name], nice to meet you."

Rather than shake your hand, Bobby glanced at the book you held and told you, "Be careful with that, it's—"

"Of course!" You took back your hand and cradled the book in both. "It's from at least early sixth century, but the parchment is in such good condition! And there aren't many of its kind, but you've got an entire book of it here." Realizing from Bobby's surprised expression that you were rambling excitedly you stopped and flushed a little darker.

Bobby glanced at Sam, who you caught smirk out of the corner of your eye, before turning back to you and extending his hand. You shook it with another shy smile and Bobby said, "Nice to meet you."

"Thank you for letting me stay in your spare bedroom," you told him politely.

"You're welcome," he said, his face revealing that while he didn't dislike you, he still wasn't sure what to make of you. But as he turned and walked into the kitchen he said, "Hear that, boys? Manners. Take notes!"

Sam stood and you saw him rolling his eyes as he walked into the kitchen after Bobby. You carefully put the very old book in its spot on the shelf, but promised yourself to come back to it as you followed Sam into the kitchen.

Sam had quickly set the table and you sat in the chair next to him, across from Bobby. Dean walked over with steaming plates of pancakes and bacon. "Blueberry," he stated flatly as he set a plate near his brother. "And the good stuff," he said with more enthusiasm accompanied by a smile. He set this second plate closest to what was to be his seat. The bacon he set in the middle and stole a piece before anyone else had the chance. He sat and everyone grabbed at pancakes. You couldn't decide between the two and thought they might taste even better together, so you grabbed from both piles of flapjacks.

"So let me get this straight," Bobby said after a moment of quiet eating. "You," he looked across the table at yourself, "are from another dimension. And when these idjits got sucked back here you got stuck with 'em."

Not sure what kind of response Bobby was looking for, you just nodded an affirmative.

"And in this other dimension, or world, or _whatever,_ " he waved one hand in the air dismissively, "these two had their own TV show."

"Right," you told him. "You're in the show, too."

"Yeah," Dean smirked, "named after one of the producers."

"Great," Bobby frowned. "Is this show very accurate to what is actually happening?"

"Uh," you found all eyes turned to you. "Well one of the last episodes they aired was a ghost case at a factory with mannequins, and the ghost was tied to this lady's kidney which was now in her sister and ended up possessing the Impala, and..." You trailed off your ramble as you saw recognition in their faces.

"That was our last case," Sam told you.

"My baby's still a little messed up," Dean frowned.

"Sounds like we're on the same timeline, then," you told them.

"Well," Bobby said as he stood and took his dishes to the sink, "We'll get you back to yours as soon as we can."

"Any luck with the phone calls?" Sam asked him.

"No," Bobby told him, "Apparently lesser saint bones are extinct as far as any of the museums are concerned."

"Great," Dean frowned before filling his mouth with more pancake.

You continued eating yours, and although they were a little lumpy they were delicious. You finished sometime after Dean and took your dishes to the sink. Sam was right behind you.

"What about Cas?" Sam asked Dean. "Or Balthazar? It's his mess. Uh- no offense, [Name]."

You laughed for a short moment. "None taken."

"Cas won't answer," Dean said frustratedly. "And I haven't tried Balthazar. That prick with wings hasn't exactly been helpful before."

"I tried getting through to Balthazar," Bobby told the brothers. "Either his angel radio is off or he's ignoring us."

"Maybe he's just ignoring _you_ ," Dean offered.

Bobby sighed, "You two go ahead and try. I'll be doing something productive." He walked through the kitchen and over to his desk.

"You get the dishes," Dean reminded his brother.

"Yeah, yeah," Sam gathered the leftover dishes on the table and brought them over to the sink.

"I can help," you told him.

"Look at that," Dean told him. "Now you've got a dryer."

Sam handed you a towel and he started scrubbing. Dean stepped away and you heard him start talking.

"Okay, Balthazar, you prick, not only did you almost get us killed by the weapons keeper of heaven, but you got [Name] stuck here with us. You need to send her back."

You heard wings flutter and when you turned around you saw Balthazar.

"Boys," he addressed them with a smirk, "Don't you know I don't like cleaning up my messes? Tedious work."

"This shouldn't be that difficult," Dean told him, all seriousness, "seeing as you did it to the two of us without telling us what was happening."

"It's just a spell," the angel was almost laughing, "and you know the ingredients. What do you need me for?"

"What is this?" Bobby cut in from the other room. "Did you just ignore me?"

Balthazar turned to face Bobby with another smirk alight his face, "Right on, Bobb-o."

"I had a summoning spell half put together," Bobby told the angel in front of him in aggravation.

"See," Balthazar turned back to the brothers and you, "He can cast a spell."

"Alright," Dean stopped their bickering, "Cut the crap. Yes, we know the spell, but it turns out lesser saints and their bones seem to have run out."

"Don't get your plaid in a twist," Balthazar told Dean. "Lesser saint means 'lesser' interest in taking care of their bones."

"We can't do the spell without the bones," Sam said.

"What a pickle," Balthazar finally looked at you. "Tell you what; I'll keep my eyes open for lesser saint remains and," he looked back over to Sam and Dean, "you two will be the first to know if I find anything." He paused for a moment and then gestured to you, "Have you even asked her if she wants to go back? I'm sure this is the most exciting thing she's ever been through. And this place could use a woman's touch..." He glanced around Bobby's living space.

Before you had decided if you should take offense to any of that, Balthazar was gone.

"Big help he is," Bobby said before returning to his desk.

Sam sighed and turned to say to you, "I guess we keep looking. Sorry, [Name]."

"It's okay," you tell him with a small reassuring smile. "It's not your fault angel's suck."

He turned back to the dishes and you did the same. Dean mumbled something about hitting the books and joined Bobby in the other room.

* * *

You were sitting on the couch with the book in your hands that you had picked up before. Now you had the time to explore it. The monk emphasized that people were God's tools, used for the Lord's ministry. It seemed to be what the majority of the book was about- why people were God's tools, and what kind of tools there are. _If only he had written about where his bones were_. The sound of one of Bobby's many phones ringing caught your attention and pulled you out of the old book.

Bobby stood from his desk and walked over to the corner of his kitchen where all of the landline phones were mounted to the wall. You watched him check which phone was ringing before answering.

"Lieutenant Tom Willis. What? Well, just call me on my damn cell phone next time. No- no, not right now! What do you want Garth?" Bobby listened for a moment, occasionally making interested hum or grunt noises. "All right, thanks for the info. Next time call my cell phone." Bobby hung up and you turned back to the book in your lap. You didn't want to get caught staring.

He walked past and started clearing things away on his desk. In the now open spot at the center he unfolded a map. Then he called Sam and Dean over. Once the two brothers stood in front of him he grabbed a red marker and uncapped it. Your curiosity got the better of you and you tried to see around the backs of the two Winchesters between you and the desk.

"I just got a call from Garth," he started. You saw his hand with the pen make a motion like he was circling a couple of different areas, and he told the brothers, "Nest of vamps, werewolf dance party. Garth and a couple other hunters are headed to the bloodsuckers."

Dean crossed his arms, "Which leaves us with the werewolves."

Bobby nodded. "There doesn't seem to be anyone else in the area."

Sam added, "Looks like we're going for a drive."

Bobby nodded and then he looked to you, "Not all of us."

"I'm not going," you stated what he was alluding to, a slight blush on your cheeks from being caught listening in.

"And one of you two is staying back with her," Bobby told the two standing in front of him.

"Not it!" Dean shot, raising a hand. He quickly turned to you, "No offense."

"I-uh," you glanced at Dean before addressing Bobby. "This sounds like a lot of werewolves. You're going to need as much firepower as you can get."

Bobby's brows furrowed and he frowned at you. "You're not going."

"She's got a point, Bobby," Sam argued.

Bobby looked over at Sam with a sigh. "She can't come, she's not a hunter. And someone's gotta make sure she stays out of trouble. Those angels saw her last night and I'm not taking any chances."

"I may not be a hunter," you told him, "but I know how to use a gun. I'll stay out of the way, but I can help you take something down."

"Being a hunter and being a _hunter_ are two very different things," Bobby told you.

"I'm a good shot, and a calm one. If there's something coming after us, it's going down. That's one thing my dad made sure I could handle," you told Bobby, eyes fierce as you remembered the years of training your father had put you through. Bobby held your gaze. You sensed he understood your determination so you asked him, "Where's my gun? I'll show you."

Bobby crossed his arms, but relented. "Alright."

Dean walked over to the side table by the couch. He pulled out the drawer and grabbed your gun from inside. He handed you the SR9c and you took it and followed Bobby out to his lot full of cars. In a back corner of the space there was a long opening and at the farthest end there were 3 targets set up, just squares of metal that had red and white circles painted onto them. Behind them were stacks of scrap metal. You pictured the 3 of them shooting together at these targets.

"Okay," Bobby's voice chased the image away. "Show us what you've got."

You stepped forward into the clearing while releasing the cartridge from your gun. You checked for bullets and confirmed that you were only missing the one that had buried itself in Virgil's chest. You faced the middle target, about 25 feet away. You stepped into a shooting stance, feet about shoulder-width apart, but right foot in front of left, and lifted the gun. You were reminded of your younger days at the many shooting tournaments you had entered at your father's urging. The eyes on you now made you more nervous than any of those audiences. It hurt a little to lift your right arm, but it was much more tolerable than it had been yesterday. You took a good breath in and let half of it out before pulling the trigger and hitting the middle target. From here you turned and shot each outer target. When you turned back around you caught Sam's small smirk while his brother and Bobby attempted to judge your mark on the targets. Bobby started walking forward and you followed after Sam and Dean.

Your first and second shots were inside of the second ring of each target, but your third was entirely in the bullseye. _Not bad for not being to a range in a few months._

Dean's eyebrows rose as he surveyed your shots. "Good enough for me."

Sam gave an agreeing nod, looking to Bobby for the final word.

The older man sighed, again, and turned to look you over. You were standing behind the group with your left hand on your hip and your right hand hanging down, pointing the gun at the ground, trigger finger along the barrel and safety on.

"All right," Bobby answered everyone's stares. You started to grin but he quickly added, "But you won't be leaving our sight."

"Of course," you nodded.


End file.
